


Snowy Tracks

by januarywren



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Adventure & Romance, Alternate Universe - Skyrim Fusion, Dark Fantasy, Drabble Collection, Dubious Consent, Dubious Ethics, Dubious Morality, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Petyr Baelish/Sansa Stark, Light Angst, Mercenary Tormund Giantsbane, Older Man/Younger Woman, Protective Tormund Giantsbane, Protectiveness, Sansa Stark Needs a Hug, Sansa Stark-centric, Scavenger Sansa Stark, Skyrim References, Skyrim Spoilers, Soft Tormund Giantsbane, Strangers to Lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2020-05-10
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:33:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24106000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/januarywren/pseuds/januarywren
Summary: Drinking in a filthy tavern in Windhelm, Tormund is approached by a little bird needing his sellsword services...Skyrim Inspired AU | Drabble Collection
Relationships: Tormund Giantsbane & Sansa Stark, Tormund Giantsbane/Sansa Stark
Comments: 6
Kudos: 48





	1. I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rising up from covid + tackling finals like -
> 
> In the moments between covid symptoms and assignments, I've been playing Skyrim. A lot. Thank you to whoever created the Tormund Giantbane (and Sandor Clegane!) follower mod for the game cause it may or may not have inspired this. 
> 
> Just maybe. 😩❤

Her hand was small in his.

Too small, Tormund thought, as if the girl was a damned baby bird.

He'd seen too many women like her in the snowy banks, their bodies ripped apart by scavenging wolves, and frost trolls alike. They were meant for the balmy weather of Solitude or the sunny fields of Whiterun. He could see her there, with braids in her hair and her lips painted pink. No, he couldn't see her in Windhelm.

He didn’t want to see her in Windhelm, with a thin fur wrap about her shoulders, and worn boots on her feet. It made him want to pull her into his lap, and feed her spoonsful of stew, and have her sputter on his ale until her cheeks were ruddy, and not from the cold. "Will you come with me then?" she asked after a moment had passed.

He didn't say that the amethyst ring she'd paid him with wasn't half of his usual fee, and he knew that she had nothing else to give him. He didn't say that she should turn and run far, far from Windhelm, and back to her home.

Instead, Tormund found himself saying, “Aye, I’ll be your sellsword.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chat with me: https://januarywren.wixsite.com/januarywren 🌹 
> 
> https://januarywren.tumblr.com/ 🌹
> 
> and ask for me my discord! 🌹
> 
> Beta'd by Grammarly! 🦝🖤


	2. II

Her name was Sansa.

She had no family or friends, though she had once named a wild hare, and coaxed it to eat from her hand. It stayed with her for several moons before it disappeared. She had never looked for it.

She watched the birds fly from their nests as dawn came, and said a prayer to Arkay after they speared fish from the ocean, or Tormund brought down game with his bow.

The land was desolate and cold, and he soon had her covered in fur armor, leaving her former rags just off the road. “Someone else will use them,” Tormund assured her, soothing feelings something he had rarely cared about before. She gave him a small smile, the sight worth the snowflakes that soaked his very beard.

He'd wanted to laugh when she collected herbs from the wild and scavenged vegetables from long-abandoned gardens. Her tender heart was why he could feel her ribs when she lay next to him, and his arm draped across her waist, or when he raised her to sit astride a stray horse. She needed to eat more, and he found that she would if he told her stories while they sat before the fire, and balanced their wooden plates on their knees.

He hadn't always been a drunk, he told her. He'd been a leader of the Free Folk, a group that settled in the wildest forests of Skyrim until their camps had been destroyed during the onset of the war. He'd been the only survivor, left with a scar down his sternum, and a rusty knife in his hand. The Imperials and the Stormcloaks were the same; two starving beasts that ached for a brutal and bitter war.

“I know,” she said, and from the shadowed look on her face, he thought he knew why she told him nothing but lies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chat with me: https://januarywren.wixsite.com/januarywren 🌹 
> 
> https://januarywren.tumblr.com/ 🌹
> 
> and ask for me my discord! 🌹
> 
> Beta'd by Grammarly! 🦝🖤


	3. III

Tormund said nothing, as he spread the tunic across his lap.

It was one that he knew every tavern wench wore, one that Susanna had shown him the benefit of more than once. The cut was low in the front, relying on two flimsy straps to keep the garment up, and had thigh-high slits on the sides.

The garment was buried at the bottom of the pack that Sansa carried, hidden beneath ‘The Gourmet’ and the amethyst ring she’d tried to pay him with. He’d tucked it back into her bag, just after she’d confessed it was the only thing left of her mother’s.

“Child of the snow,” Tormund mused, hearing her weak cry behind him. “Who owns you?”

She didn’t answer him then. He hadn’t expected her to.

Instead, her answer came days later when they slept in the same cave where the draugr crypt. “Petyr,” Sansa confessed, “The innkeeper of Nightgate’s Inn.”

It was the only home that she’d ever known.

Tormund whistled, knowing the man’s reputation from the sailors that crowed about an inn where the wine and the wenches made the return from the sea a blessed one. Sansa drew her knees against her chest and watched the dwindling fire. "Ten thousand," Sansa whispered, "for keeping me safe since I was a babe."

He'd known prized steeds that had gone for less and were able to breed. He knew too, that when a man had a valuable steed, they didn't leave scars on their skin, and make them as skittish as the churning sea. "It's why I go on these runs," Sansa added, plucking at her furred gauntlet. "I find things that I can sell, and people that I can help. It's not much but -"

"It's something," Tormund said, thinking of the tears that dripped down her cheeks when she took septims from urns, and broken jars in the crypts they explored. She had a softer heart than any in Skyrim, one that would end with her eaten alive. And he knew, as he yanked her into his arms, and embraced her, that he would see her become free.

“It’s everything to me,” Sansa confessed. “Everything.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chat with me: https://januarywren.wixsite.com/januarywren 🌹 
> 
> https://januarywren.tumblr.com/ 🌹
> 
> and ask for me my discord! 🌹
> 
> Beta'd by Grammarly! 🦝🖤


	4. IV

“You didn’t!” Sansa giggled, ale leaving a foamy trail above her lip.

“By the gods I did,” Tormund snorted. Siddgeir, the Jarl of Falkreath was no friend of his. “I told him, “I saw your pecker. What kind of god would have a pecker that small?”

“Is that why you can’t go back to Falkreath?” Sansa questioned, leaning against his side.

Ever since she had confessed the truth to him, she had been growing more comfortable in his presence; not flinching when he sat beside her or helped braid her fire kissed hair. (She'd asked to braid his in return, though he'd been stern about not touching his beard).

Nuzzling his face against her shoulder, Tormund chuckled. "It's true, there's no love between Siddgeir and me, but Dengeir," his hand curled into a fist. "He wanted me to murder his nephew for him as if anyone wanted _him_ back on the throne.”

Sansa was quiet a moment before she took another sip of her ale. She was a little bird still, Tormund thought, drinking the same as any court noblewoman, a habit he hadn't coaxed her from yet. " _There’s no need for kneeler manners_ ,” he’d told her, “ _The only company we have are the undead, Lady Sansa_.”

She'd only given him a small smile in return, before shaking her head. There were some things he couldn't cure her from, acting like a pretty kneeler among them. At least he'd gotten her to call him by his name after he'd asked her if she knew _why_ some called him Giantsbane. She’d dropped the _Ser Giantsbane_ after that, calling him by Tormund instead.

And by the gods, if he wasn't coming to appreciate the sound of his name when the little bird called for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chat with me: https://januarywren.wixsite.com/januarywren 🌹 
> 
> https://januarywren.tumblr.com/ 🌹
> 
> and ask for me my discord! 🌹
> 
> Beta'd by Grammarly! 🦝🖤


End file.
